


Pity

by iamisaac



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3103799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac





	Pity

_**Harry Potter: Severus/Harry**_  
 **Fandom** : Harry Potter  
 **Pairing** : Severus/Harry, implied Severus/Lily  
 **Rating** : PG13  
 **Word Count** : 1107  
 **A/N** : A rare - a very rare - excursion into Snarry. Sort of.

He starts school, and you almost recoil at the sight of him. This is no child of Lily’s: this is Potter, Potter all over again – as if you had not had enough issues with the first. He looks cocksure: clearly he knows his importance, even as he stands in that first potions class.  
“Our new… _celebrity_ ,” you murmur; and he does not even take a moment to deny the claim.  
He knows, oh, he knows all right, that his name is lauded, godlike, across the wizard world. Potter the first had that same sense of entitlement, that same idea that being himself, a Potter, was enough for anyone to lick his boots. You loathed James Potter, and you feel the same hatred bubbling up inside you as you watch this new child stand confidently before you.  
*  
There is the moment, as he looks up at you from behind the detention papers, when you see – not James, but Lily. And it hurts, it hurts **more** than when you could stay (safe) in your bubble of hatred. You have to force the scowl this time, as he realizes that you are looking.  
“Get on with it, Potter,” you snap.  
“Yes, _sir_ ,” he says grudgingly; and with that tone he is back to being James once more, and you can enjoy your dislike once more.

*

He has seen the Pensieve moment, that one moment you wanted him not to see. Lily, oh Lily – why did you say those words? No one must know how much that single word cost you, no one. Certainly not the Potter brat. Of all people, not him. James’s spawn. Every time you look at him you can see Lily. Lily, turning her back on you and walking out with James. Lily, on her back, getting fucked by James. That image, more than any other, you see when Harry walks into the room.  
And now. Now, you see _pity_ in his eyes; pity, and another emotion that you don’t recognize, don’t want to recognize. You vent your spleen in anger, almost spitting in your desire to get him from the room. Make him get out before he understands. He may pity you, as _she_ did; he may despise you, as he did. You can bear neither, not from him.

*

You sent Lily a note when he was born. Not Potter, just her. It was formal, polite; each letter inscribed with cold accuracy. For days – weeks – you waited for a reply. Some sign that you and she were… not friends, not as you once had been: her marriage prevented that; but that you could make some move towards a subtle reconciliation.  
She didn’t write. You told yourself that she was taken up in the child; that it meant nothing. Then, one cold November morning, you passed Black in the street. He was laughing as he read from the card in his hand. “Oh Lily,” you heard him say. “You crack me up.”  
She sent love and letters to Sirius Black and not to you. You knew then that Potter had succeeded; that he had turned her against you forever. Your hatred for him was never stronger than in that moment.

*  
He has grown. You look at him now, and his resemblance to James Potter is obvious and yet less strong than it once was. He has the ruffled black hair, the inner confidence – but, to your surprise, the arrogance you expect is not there; is not obvious as it was in _him_.  
To your surprise, you find yourself regretting the dislike he has for you. Regretting the fact that by following Albus’s last wishes, you have cut yourself off from Potter and the Order – possibly for all time. You see him as Lily’s son; almost, as Lily come back to you. You have an insane desire to pull him to you and kiss him; to claim him as you should have claimed Lily but never did.  
His lips are soft and pink and full. He looks… naïve; as if he is wanting something he has not got, but doesn’t know what it is. For a second or two you embrace the thought that you could fill that gaping hole. Then he shrugs and turns away, and the chance has gone, if it were ever really there.

*  
You find yourself watching him now, all the time. You follow his every move from the Headmaster’s office where you do not feel at home. Albus looks down and encourages you; Phineas Nigellus is positively gratified to have you in this position of power – but it does not suit you. You brood, and you watch as Potter fights with Weasley; as he and the Granger girl continue alone. You have a task to fulfil, but that task almost (almost) takes second place to your interest in Harry. You realize, with a start, that he has become “Harry” to you, not “Potter,” like his father. You want to go to him and spill the secrets you have kept so close for years.  
The desire frightens you. Admit it, you are fearful of an emotion you had thought never again to feel after Lily’s death. You refuse to give a name to it, for the word – love – brings too much pain into your heart. You loved your mother; watched her abused by your father. You loved Lily; saw her reject you for your most bitter enemy. What might your love for Harry bring? You refuse to allow it space to breathe.

*

He moves beneath you, squirming and pleading. Those green eyes are glazed with sex and desire as he gasps his need aloud. He is – he has – something that Lily wasn’t (didn’t). He has an understanding that you sought in Lily with no success. He cries “Severus, _Severus_ ,” and it is adoration in his face, that and desperation. He wants you, you and no other, and you wish nothing more than to give it to him.  
You awaken, alone, and despise yourself for your pathetic fantasies.

*

You are dying, and he is there. You summon up your courage.  
“Look at me,” you insist.  
He will not see himself; you cannot bear to allow him access to those moments. Some things, even in death, are sacred. You will give him Lily, Albus; a thousand shattering pieces of your heart, but not him. The boy has enough of a burden to carry: let him continue his hatred without discouragement. But you stare, stare into those green eyes as you feel your life seeping away; and you do not see Lily, your first love. You see Harry, your last.


End file.
